


Sounds Like a Family Name

by Kamu



Series: Never Would I Ever [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Android Escort Matsukawa, Inventor Hanamaki, M/M, Robot AU, Sexual Humor, Studded Hanamaki, Switching, Toys, they are flexible literally and figuratively my friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamu/pseuds/Kamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki, a young and aspiring inventor, needs someone eligible to test out his inventions.</p><p>Matsukawa just so happens to fill out those requirements and be in the mood to say yes.</p><p>In the end, they never figure out if Matsukawa's dick <i>can</i> shoot out lasers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matsukawa

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I do PWP, and it's for these sarcastic lovable assholes.

It’s the gleam of his studs and the light pastel of his hair that caught his eye in the dark umber lights of the room.

Matsukawa elbowed Oikawa, who had been chatting with his clients for the night. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, nodding toward the lone guy in the small crowd.

“Hm?” Oikawa followed his gaze and his eyes light up. “Ah, are you interested in Makki-chan?”

He wasn’t sure if this was interest or passing fascination with someone who stood out without even trying. The guy was certainly his type, and it was helpful that he seemed to be alone and work was slow for Matsukawa that hour. Matsukawa shrugged in answer, half hoping his natural poker face would get him under Oikawa’s snooping radar. It worked three out of four times.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Oikawa suggested with a sparkle in his eye, rising from their table and tugging on the sleeve of Matsukawa's suit. “Don’t be a shy baby, Mattsun!”

“I’m not,” he said to the coworker and friend already focused on getting him to this “Makki-chan’s” table.

“Yahoo~! Makki-chan, Oikawa-san has decided to grace his presence within your general proximity,” Oikawa announced, plopping down in the booth and throwing an arm around his shoulders. Without glancing back, he waved a hand to Matsukawa trailing behind him. “By the way, this caterpillar eyebrows statue is my associate, Mattsun.”

“A very nice statue,” the guy agreed with equal cheer, though it was laced with an undercurrent of sarcasm Matsukawa sometimes used when Oikawa was being particularly obnoxious. Besides his attractive character, Matsukawa admired the various studs dotting his lower lip. He thought he saw a glimpse of metal flashing on his tongue. The guy greeted him with more genuine charm, though his crooked smile made him appear like he was laughing at both of them, “Hello, statue associate. Hanamaki would be thy name.”

Matsukawa sat on Hanamaki’s other side, slightly less invading than Oikawa was. “Good evening,” he said, bowing his head politely as he kicked back and adjusted his cuff links. “I’m Matsukawa.”

Hanamaki brought a hand up to his chin to contemplate him, which drew Matsukawa's attention to the tattoos circling his fingers. They flowed like a watercolor painting down the expanse of his forearms to teasingly disappear into the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

“Mattsun!” Hanamaki beamed, bringing Matsukawa back up to his face. He quickly closed the space between them and grasped Matsukawa's hands between his. “You’re perfect!”

He and Oikawa blinked. Hanamaki had sat by himself all evening without a word, taking notes studiously as he watched the clients enter and leave, and not much doing anything else. He looked mad right then.

“Uh,” Oikawa said numbly, “did you break something, Makki-chan??”

Hanamaki shot Oikawa a thumbs up and a grin. “I’m great! Thanks, Oikawa-kun, he’s exactly what I've been looking for,” he said, patting Matsukawa's shoulder appreciatively.

Matsukawa turned to Oikawa. “Did you just auction me off?” he asked, suspicious because this was something Oikawa would do.

"Darling, you're priceless," Hanamaki cut in with a cheesy line. If Matsukawa wasn't so conflicted and half-angry with Oikawa, he would laugh.

“No!” Oikawa protested, seeming to understand himself. Clearly. He glanced between them frantically. “I didn't even know why Makki-chan asked to tag along tonight!”

Hanamaki cleared his throat, flicking on his tablet and propping it on the table as he explained, “I came here by invitation of Oikawa-kun to find eligible testers for my latest inventions.” He flipped to a slide with a well-drawn sketch of a male body, with details like height, weight, and muscle mass listed in barely legible chicken scratch next to it. Hanamaki pointed his tablet pen in Matsukawa’s face. “You, my beautifully modeled friend, are the ideal tester I’ve been looking for. Congratulations.”

Matsukawa would say he would think on it, but he was speechless and, if he was being honest, _curious_. Hanamaki made him curious and willing to listen and anticipate his next words. He left a good impression. Also, he had a feeling they could carry on a conversation just fine while enjoying themselves. 

Matsukawa found he was captivated by a stranger with pretty pink hair and glittering skin (of piercings). He liked this feeling. It was new, and he hoped to whatever patron god of androids that it would stay.

“Are you up for it, Mattsun?” Hanamaki asked, poking Matsukawa's cheek with his pen.

“Sure,” Matsukawa agreed instantly. He didn’t even have to think long about it. The fact that he was bored was reason enough to go ahead with whatever Hanamaki had planned for him. "I'm sure I can take it, Mr. Inventor."

“I think I will go now,” Oikawa chirped as he rose and skipped away. He twiddled his fingers over his shoulder and stuck out a tongue, “Have fun, you two!”

They waved halfheartedly at Oikawa’s retreating figure, knowing the fate of their bubbly number one escort: to the adoring embraces of his fans. He would be fine without Matsukawa there.

“Oh, right,” Hanamaki said, thumping his fist on his palm as a thought occurred to him, “What are your rates?”

It took him a second to realize Hanamaki was talking to him. The inventor raised a studded eyebrow, waiting for Matsukawa to reply.

“My…?” Matsukawa considered it for a moment. He shook his head and put up a hand in refusal. “Sorry, you’re a friend of Oikawa’s. I feel like I would be cheating you out of your money.”

“That’s too bad,” Hanamaki said, as if it truly was a pity. He gathered the overnight bag at his feet and shoved the rest of his belongings into it. “I’m taking you away from your work! Your source of income! You need some compensation for indulging me.”

“Give me a good time,” Matsukawa murmured as he guided him to the discreet exit hidden in the corner leading up to their rooms, “and I’ll consider if it was worth a whole night with you.”

Hanamaki grinned. “Wow, you’re good at this,” he said. “Do the words come naturally, or are you like Oikawa-kun? Watching and tailoring his replies to your client's reactions?”

“No one’s like Oikawa." Matsukawa felt vaguely uncomfortable talking about the way he speaks. “He knows how people work. He can read cues, like how talking about another person when it’s supposed to be just the two of us is a no-no.”

“Oh, I ruined the mood, didn’t I?” Hanamaki snickered behind his hand. “Reason one why I am not an escort like you handsome gentlemen.”

Matsukawa counted the doors they passed and felt for the one he kept specially for him. “What we do is a learned thing,” he explained as he unlocked the door and waved Hanamaki in. “You’d do great with your looks and interpersonal skills.”

As he secured the door behind him, Hanamaki dropped the carrier bag beside the bed and inspected the room with an eye keen and practiced.

“Are all the rooms soundproof?” he asked, poking at the black lighted walls.

“Sure,” Matsukawa said. “Would you prefer they weren’t? We have the option to turn it off for clients who get off on that.”

“Nope,” Hanamaki said cheerfully, walking up to press Matsukawa against the door. “We don’t need outside factors affecting your experience.”

Hanamaki rose on his toes, though not by much since they were pretty close in height, and whispered so close he was practically licking the shell of his ear, “Please allow me to indulge myself for the next few hours.”

Matsukawa was glad he tacked on the please. It made the dominating thing easier to get into if they were on equal ground.

“What should I do?” Matsukawa asked as Hanamaki led him to the bed. He looked at their joined hands and noted the piercings by his wrists.

“Let me think,” Hanamaki intoned, pushing him onto the covers with one knee bent under him as he half sat on the bed. “Let’s improvise?”

“Great,” Matsukawa said, because it was.

Hanamaki gazed down at him. Matsukawa's arms supported his upper body and his suit jacket had been thrown open on the trip down, and his legs rested in a ready position for Hanamaki’s decision. If not for the thoughtful look in his eyes, Matsukawa would think Hanamaki was blatantly leering down at him.

Hanamaki pointed to his lower body first.

“Let’s get rid of these,” Hanamaki said, dragging the tips of those inked fingers over the material. “It’s a shame. Pinstripes shape your thighs so well.”

“Thanks.” Matsukawa made to remove his pants. Hanamaki’s hands over his stopped him from drawing down the zipper.

“Can I do it?” Hanamaki asked, ever the gentleman.

“You’re the boss,” Matsukawa said.

“That sounds so nice,” Hanamaki said appreciatively, “but I like ‘control’ better, don’t you?”

Matsukawa hummed noncommittally. Hanamaki did fast work. His pants were soon at his ankles. His shoes, though, posed a problem.

“I didn’t think this part through.” Hanamaki slumped and tried to remove them. He inevitably caught on the laces.

“Hold my legs still,” Matsukawa gently ordered from above. He bent into a sitting position and undid them with a tug. Hanamaki continued as he was before and let them drop to the floor.

“Something wrong?” Matsukawa asked as Hanamaki stared transfixed at his toes.

“What would be best?” Hanamaki asked, mouth pursing into a pout. “Socks or no socks?”

Matsukawa did not have an answer to this. Why was he asking him these questions?

“You asked me to indulge you,” Matsukawa said slowly, “so why don’t I? You’re not supposed to be Mr. Inventor right now.”

“This...this is part of the process,” Hanamaki hesitated after a moment. “That’s hot, whatever you’re doing.”

“What?”

Hanamaki gazed at him with gleaming eyes and a knowing grin. “Riling me up without even trying. That’s how you are, isn’t it? You make it so it seems like you don’t try at all, but you do, but much quieter and less subtle.”

“It’s not about me,” Matsukawa reminded. “What do you want, Hanamaki?”

“Don’t call me that for one,” he said, “Call me Takahiro.”

Matsukawa tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Alright. Takahiro.”

Takahiro's exhale ghosted over his face. “Step one, done. Now, what we came here for. Literally and figuratively.”

Matsukawa heard rustling and propped open an eye to see Takahiro off to the side digging around in his bag.

“Here we go.” Takahiro reemerged by his side with a hand behind his back. “Ta-da!”

It was a vibrator.

“You said you were an inventor…” Matsukawa was starting to connect the dots and why Oikawa had wished them to have a “fun time”... “So this is what you specialize in.”

Takahiro placed the vibrator on the bedside table and teased his fingers at the tops of his boxers. “You’re not surprised,” he observed. He probably didn’t realize he was licking his lips as he peeled away Matsukawa’s underwear.

“You’re friends with Oikawa,” was all Matsukawa said.

Takahiro shrugged helplessly in agreement.

“Shall we begin?” Takahiro said kneeling above him. “How many times can I make you cum with one of my babies? Inversely, how many of them does it take to make you cum once? Next time, on HanaMatsu’s Exploration of Dildos and the Prostate!”

Matsukawa had one thing to say to Takahiro’s mock-host narration.

“That sounds like a family name.”

Takahiro pointed the caterpillar-like vibrator at him like a mic, grinning madly like Matsukawa finally got an inside joke.

“It does, doesn’t it?”


	2. Takahiro

Matsukawa was that something in his life he never knew he needed.

It started off as a joke, an instant experiment with a friend’s friend who was down with anything he threw at him, and by anything, there were no limits to what he could do.

Takahiro’s toys up his ass from dusk til dawn? Alright, he said.

How about into the morning and then bed and breakfast? He could request tomorrow off so they could do it the rest of the day.

Kinks or fetishes? None he could say he tried yet. If Takahiro had any, he was all ears.

The android escort was a willing subject. Takahiro was glad, true. He could go wild with his imagination in the bedroom.

The only problem was when they met in the day, where the cover of dim lights and hazy touches melted and showed him Matsukawa, the chill guy who got his jokes and wit and found them as hilarious as he intended them.

He got Takahiro, and Takahiro was glad he met someone who understood.

The question was what it meant to them. What this, whatever this was—fucking? Fuck buddies? Salt friends?—was due for a debate.

Also up for questioning was why they never kissed, even in the middle of a heated moment where they were at the edge of seeing stars.

But thinking about this right now was quite inconvenient. Why?

Because he was on a date.

Light winds, blue everything, and lazy clouds made perfect weather for such things. Their floating city in the sky made the scenery below much prettier.

“Hey.” Matsukawa watched a passing cloud unfurl slowly, so close he could stretch out an arm’s length further and he would be able to touch it. “I know I never ask questions. That’s your job.”

Takahiro slid his eyes to him. He had let his gaze trail over everything as he daydreamed, and his vision was spotted from staring at a cloud for too long. “My friend, do tell. We have all day.”

Matsukawa stretched out his hand, idly brushing it through the wisps. “What do you want for your birthday?” he asked simply, not looking at him.

Takahiro had to think for a second. “Isn’t yours closer?” he said.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa agreed, “but I usually never celebrate mine. Oikawa makes a big deal about it, though.”

"He would. Probably for something sentimental that will make him cry later.”

“He does not cry pretty.”

“Right he does not.”

“We will never tell that to his face.”

“Because we love him, and parents sometimes cannot tell their children certain truths.”

“So?” Matsukawa prompted. He seemed like he didn’t want to get off track this time with banter. Unusual for him.

“What do I want?” Takahiro didn’t feel like seriously thinking about anything materialistic—an act or a gesture was more fitting for them. “When I find out, I’ll tell you.”

And just like that, he got a succinct “Okay” and the topic was closed.

What would it take to shake this guy?

It was a question for another day.

There was an immediate question that had to be answered at top priority.

“Have you ever done it in broad daylight?”


	3. Takahiro

The answer came to Takahiro with his dick up Matsukawa’s ass.

As harsh as it sounds, the pleasure really didn’t cloud up his ability to think in moments like these. Being as close as physically possible to the person he had been thinking about for days made it all the more clear.

“I know, I know what I want,” Takahiro gasped, wincing as Matsukawa clenched around him as he twitched and moaned into the pillow. The reason why was splattered across his abdomen.

“Why,” Matsukawa huffed, opening one dark eye to look at him from under his arm as Takahiro withdrew carefully, “why the sudden revelation?”

Takahiro bent so he could press a finger to his lips. Matsukawa licked it, naturally.

“Say no more,” Takahiro said, smiling through the sweat dripping from his forehead down his cheeks and chin, to land on Matsukawa’s chest and face, “What you say next will affect my wish.”

Matsukawa, blank-faced, sucked in his finger and hummed curiously around it, his sign to tell Takahiro to continue.

Removing his free hand from where he had been spreading Matsukawa’s legs apart, Takahiro raised all five fingers silently.

“Five serious questions, five serious answers,” he declared, sliding in another finger for Matsukawa to twirl his tongue around, “Some can be from me, and some can be for you. See, we share and we’re both happy.”

Matsukawa slipped off his fingers with a wet pop. “It’s uneven,” he managed to say. A drop of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth down to his jaw. “One of us is going to have more questions than the other.”

Takahiro pressed a hand there, caressing the defined angle of his chin and tilting it up so they could look at each other. “Then the last one better be important for the both of us,” he replied, gazing at the way the muscles in his neck moved under his skin.

Matsukawa blinked, dazedly as he processed this. Takahiro waited for him patiently, absently rubbing his jaw with a wet finger as if to say _Take your time_.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa finally sighed, tilting his face so he could nuzzle Takahiro's hand. “Sounds good to me.”

Takahiro knew he would agree deep down, but it’s so nice to hear it straight from his mouth. Also, Takahiro liked his voice, the rare times he ever did speak more than a few sentences at a time.

Takahiro dropped his gaze to Matsukawa's lips and back up to his eyes again, indicating what he intended to do. Matsukawa stuck out his tongue with a bland, “Ah,” and immediately followed Takahiro's fingers tickling the roof of his mouth with a pleased groan.

Takahiro quite liked listening to those, too.


	4. Matsukawa

Matsukawa ended up asking a question first. He thought it should count as half of one, technically, since it wasn’t truly serious, only to their conversation.

“Do we need a code word to know it’s serious?” he said as they were once again relaxing on the edge of some dangerously elevated spot in the city, this time on the ledge of some famous skyscraper.

Takahiro looked up from the gadget he was tinkering with. It wasn’t one of his usual brand of toys. This one looked more tame, like a wristwatch of some sort. Matsukawa guessed it might be a GPS.

“Yes,” Takahiro said, “that is a very relevant and brilliant idea. Smart thinking.” He lifted a hand for a high-five.

Matsukawa met his palm without looking. “Suggestions?” he asked, eyes following the path of a bird flying in the direction of the setting horizon.

“I have a few, but I want to hear yours first,” Takahiro said, putting his things aside to face Matsukawa. “I think you let me get all the credit for our elaborate plans. I mean, there’s no way our schemes could be as creative as a bring-your-own-bat _suikawari_ without your last minute update to the invitations.”

“Kuroo sent those out,” Matsukawa corrected.

Takahiro crossed his arms. “And who thought of it when he complained how boring this year’s party was going to be?” he asked pointedly.

“You got me.” Matsukawa relented and raised his arms in surrender.

The inventor hummed. “Don’t put yourself down, silly goose,” Takahiro chided, reaching over to playfully tweak his nose. “You have a tendency to do that too much. It’s no wonder Oikawa stuck to you whenever I saw you together. You’d dig yourself into a ditch if you could hide.”

He shook off the offending fingers and rubbed his nose. “I never saw you,” Matsukawa said.

“Ah, but here’s the thing: I didn’t want to be seen,” Takahiro said coyly. “I am an inventor and a technician at heart. We excel behind the scenes.”

“How much I missed out on you because you hid in the shadows,” Matsukawa said sadly. He waved his free hand in Takahiro’s general face area. “Meanwhile, I could spot you from across the room as a client.”

Biting his bottom lip so he could suck on the piercing there, Takahiro shrugged off his intended praise. “This shit gets me stuck in corporate buildings for ages,” he said, rolling his eyes at Matsukawa in exaggerated disbelief. “They love me in Human Customs and Security.”

“Have they done full body checks on you?” Matsukawa asked, half wondering if that was a violation of the human rights and code of conduct.

“Psh,” Takahiro dismissed it with a casual one shoulder shrug, “They wish. Scanners know what and _where_ it beeps. They can’t touch—” he hovered his hand over his body, “this.”

“Oh,” Matsukawa said, understanding what he meant as he pictured it: the outline of Takahiro’s body in black and white and various accusingly red pinpoints and rods across his arms and torso and other unmentioned regions only Matsukawa had the privilege of exploring.

“Oh is right,” Takahiro said with a devious grin.

“I’m not good at this stuff upfront.” Matsukawa knew this conversation would go nowhere. He pointed to the tools Takahiro had set down. “What’s this?”

“A heart monitor,” he declared proudly. “It’s a work in progress for my medical studies and the normal toy industry shebang.”

“What does it do besides heart measuring?” Matsukawa was glad to know his changing the subject had worked on Takahiro. Sometimes, he thought Takahiro was as oblivious as Oikawa on days like these.

Clearing his throat, Takahiro revved up for some explaining. “Nanobytes and screen contacts,” he said vaguely. He waved a hand, like get-a-load-of-this-great-idea type of wave. “Should I use an example?”

“Yes,” Matsukawa said.

“So you’re having sex,” Takahiro started casually, “and say you or your partner are kind of kinky so there are whips and belts to go around. There’s a ton and your friends think you have a dog because there’s so many darn collars. There’s a whole wall dedicated to them. Do they not notice the whips and harnesses? One friend even commented how they sometimes horse ride, too.”

“Takahiro,” Matsukawa warned, shoving him lightly with a shoulder.

“Getting there,” Takahiro laughed and pushed back. “So, one of you are incapable of speech or movement while humping—ah, _horse riding_. How does your partner know when to stop?”

Matsukawa shrugged and leaned his chin on his palm. He was a good listener, according to Oikawa and his clients.

“The solution to your problems.” Takahiro pressed a small button on the side of the watch and the glass pressed outward to reveal two pairs of contact lenses in a slosh of liquid. “The water contains nanobytes to signal increases in heart rate or blood pressure, and the contacts receive the data.”

Matsukawa was beginning to understand. “Is it for human-only partners?” he asked.

Takahiro put the lenses away. “What do you mean?”

“I can do that, too,” Matsukawa said, looking elsewhere.

“No way.” Takahiro grabbed his shoulder and scanned his face. “I didn’t know androids had that function.”

“I only know a few who can. We’re all similar types, though.”

Takahiro eyes gleamed brightly like whenever he thought up a new scheme. “What type of android are you?” He paused. “Is it something confidential or super-spy secret?”

“Not that I know of,” Matsukawa said. “I thought you already knew what type I am.”

“Why would I?” Takahiro asked, genuinely confused.

“It’s listed on our site. Everything is there.” Matsukawa basked in the way Takahiro’s nonexistent eyebrows rose comically. “You obviously didn’t read the fine print if you’re surprised now.”

Takahiro flipped on his watch and opened up the site. “Holy shit?” he said as he read his profile, “A REM bot? I thought only human infirmaries have this model.”

“If it’s for sexual pleasure or distraction for a lost tooth, we can make use of our abilities to their fullest potential if we have the freedom to choose how we use them.”

“You only deal in fantasies, not sexual realities,” Takahiro read off the holographic screen. “Doesn’t this mean…”

“Yep,” Matsukawa said, watching the realization dawn on the inventor’s face. “You’re my first for everything.”

“Everything?” Takahiro repeated numbly.

“I can make a list.” Matsukawa ticked off the things they did with a finger. “First, the light up massager slash vibrator, the furry urchin looking thing I forget what we used for, the—”

Takahiro raised a hand, cheeks flushed. “Let me absorb this new information.” He waited all but five seconds. He breathed in and appeared immediately calmer. “Okay, I’m good. How come you never tried it with me?”

“I don’t know.” Matsukawa did know, very well why he never attempted to try it with him. “I had a feeling it would be different if I did it with you.”

Takahiro looked at him deadpan. “I’ve had my dick up your ass,” he said bluntly, “I can take whatever you have for me.”

“Right now?” he asked as he knocked his knees with Takahiro’s.

Takahiro waved him in so their foreheads touched.

“Yes now, unless doing this requires us to relocate to your bedroom?”

Matsukawa shook his head. “No.” He lifted a hand and caressed Takahiro’s cheek, dropping his gaze lower. “I just need your lips.”

Takahiro opened his mouth to say something, but Matsukawa was already there. He unconsciously closed his eyes. Takahiro liked experimenting, but he had zero experience in the testee department. Doing something like this must excite Takahiro.

Matsukawa’s breath teased over the sensitive skin of Takahiro’s lips, and Takahiro inhaled as if in answer.

Matsukawa had been waiting for this.

In the reflection of the window, Matsukawa saw his eyes flash cyan. He nearly sighed in relief as he withdrew and let his breath be inhaled by Takahiro. Thanks to a certain inventor, Matsukawa was out of practice.

“Sweet dreams, Takahiro.” 


	5. Takahiro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted there to be more memery and Smut especially since this is HanaMatsu but hey, I actually wanna get to the part that inspired this fic (the laser dick) so?

Takahiro woke to a steel gray ceiling and unfamiliar sheets. He sat up and looked around the room. It was bare of essentials, yet he could tell it was well cared for. The room structure was definitely recognizable.

The door slid open. Matsukawa strode in with a hand in his pant pocket and his free hand holding a glass of water.

“Welcome to the world, sleepyhead,” Matsukawa greeted, handing him the glass and settling on the free pillow by Takahiro’s side.

“What did you do to me?” Hanamaki groaned when his shoulder popped.

“What I always do for a living,” Matsukawa replied. He watched Takahiro gulp down the water in one go.

“I got a good nap,” Takahiro reported, wiping his mouth to hide the unseemly trail of drool on his chin. “I don’t remember what I dreamed, but since I’m feeling so good I know I must of have had some REM activity.”

“You’re sure?” Matsukawa asked.

“Positive.”

The android fell silent as Takahiro put aside the glass and nudged him playfully.

“We can always try it again,” he said hopefully. The time, he wouldn’t forget.

“Later.” Matsukawa pushed himself up and headed toward the door. He turned back with a considering look. “Wanna come with me? I have my shift in a bit and I don’t want to leave you here for the next eight hours.”

Takahiro flipped over the covers and joined him out in the hallway.

“You sound like you don’t like the room,” Takahiro observed as they made their way to Matsukawa’s room.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s who it belongs to.” Matsukawa corrected himself, “Actually, belonged, past tense.”

“Oh?” Takahiro knew a story was coming.

“The owner—you’ve probably never met them, I haven’t either—said that a veteran escort used to occupy that room. They didn’t explain why he was gone, only that there was a note with two words on it once they discovered he wasn’t showing up anymore.”

“What did it say?” Takahiro asked as Matsukawa fell quiet again.

They arrived at his door. “There was a name,” Matsukawa didn’t turn on the lights of his room, instead ushering Takahiro into complete darkness, “and there was the kanji for ‘revelation’ scribbled on the back.”

Matsukawa’s eyes glowed ominously.

“And?” Takahiro prompted, waving his hand to catch something to hold on. He caught Matsukawa’s sleeve and held it tightly.

“We all think he may have decided to fall,” Matsukawa said, catching Takahiro’s elbow and hugging his waist so they were chest to chest.

“Those people who willingly decided to leave the city? Wow.” Takahiro thought about it and came up with a revelation of his own. “What was his name?”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Matsukawa said.

“Are you serious?” Takahiro exclaimed, flailing in shock, “He’s one of the originals! What was he doing here? You worked with a legend and you never told me?”

In the dark, Matsukawa’s eyes narrowed at close proximity. “It’s a general rule to forget about those who abandon their privileged lives for dreams and half-baked fantasies.”

Matsukawa sounded downright venomous as he drove Takahiro backwards, cyan gaze mesmerizing and dizzying as he felt his legs give and he was falling down, down, down.

Takahiro expected pillow, soft comforter, or hard carpeted floor, but all he met was air as if they had dove into a gaping precipice. Oddly, Takahiro felt no vertigo and need to hurl. Maybe it was the android in his arms who gave him the courage.

“We’re here,” Matsukawa announced, silent for the time they had been falling. He removed a hand from Takahiro’s hips and opened a door behind him, shining a rectangle of pure light on them despite the fact they were descending with Takahiro’s back to the ground—if the void had a solid floor to land on.

“Fuck, warn a guy next time when you’re gonna shine the sun in my eyes, will you?” Takahiro griped, blinking away the spots irritably. He wouldn’t mention the wonky physics, knowing if he acknowledged it then this would end. _Lucid,_ he remembered. Not awake. Lucid.

“I don’t make the rules,” Matsukawa said, leading him through the door. Takahiro followed, steps clumsy as he felt grass underfoot and registered the heady smells of organic things he couldn’t put a name to.

“Where are we?” he asked as the android let go.

Matsukawa glanced around and shrugged, his dark suited figure contrasting starkly against the immense backdrop of green. “You tell me. I don’t know where we are, but I know who she is.” He pointed in a direction, up what the vintage alien movies Oikawa loved to watch called _hills._

“She?” Takahiro repeated. He immediately heard a high-pitched giggle and a responding chuckle, the latter of which came from _Matsukawa_ of all people.

“What was _that_?” Takahiro couldn’t believe it. Yet, he could, because he had memorized every single quirk of the android’s lips and recorded the timbre of his voice in his mindscape to put together his vision of a freely laughing Matsukawa.

He drew his eyes up the hill where a small figure in a blue and pink yukata waved. It was a girl with a side ponytail, holding a basket of flowers. She smiled at them so broad her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You guys are such slow pokes!” she said as they climbed to her. Her round cheeks made her look like a cute forest animal. Takahiro had the urge to pet her.

“Yes, yes,” Matsukawa placated. He pinched her cheeks to her indignant outrage. Her fists barely made dents in Matsukawa’s clothes.

“Honestly, I’m not getting any younger here. We need to get the bouquet just right before it starts,” she reprimanded, oddly reminding Takahiro of a mini Oikawa. They walked to another section of the hill where a gazebo looked over a meadow. The sky, previously blue, bled orange.

“Before what starts?” he asked to humor her. The little shrimp went on to explain the meanings of flowers and how suave a cheeky guy like Takahiro could be if only he deigned to learn it to “woo the peeps and bots”. At some point, she had slipped into his lap, which Takahiro found no troubles accommodating. She was so light, like a fairy. He wrapped his arms around her, afraid she might float away.

As he listened to her well-meaning lecture (?), he glanced beside him, curious to how she and Matsukawa knew each other.

He stilled. Takahiro wasn’t expecting...whatever expression Matsukawa was making. It was unusual and captivating, considering Takahiro had never seen it in real life.

In this moment, as the girl chattered about her favorite flower and the process of growing fruit, Matsukawa gazed at them like they were his whole world.

“What is it?” Matsukawa said, catching Takahiro’s stare.

“What is she?” _What is she to you—to us—to make you look so tender?_

Instead of answering, Matsukawa extracted the girl from him, placing the woven flower basket in the space between them. “You mean you haven’t noticed?” The girl went quietly, obedient and satisfied as the android traced her features and sifted his hands through her wavy, _pink_ ponytail.

“No,” Takahiro said, disbelief growing as Matsukawa pressed a kiss to the girl’s thick eyebrows above her pretty blue eyes.

The girl shifted in Matsukawa’s lap and held her arms out to him, yearning for Takahiro to come close. Like he was in a trance, he clasped her tiny, cherubic hands in his own. Her lips moved soundlessly. The white noise ringing in his ears overshadowed what she said.

He could, however, hear himself speak.

“She’s ours?”

Matsukawa nodded, chin brushing the top of the girl’s head. This suddenly important girl looked between them, sensing the tension in the air rise.

Takahiro’s bottom lip trembled. He couldn’t control the onslaught of emotion wracking his chest. He was struck speechless, though it didn’t stop him from thinking. Matsukawa’s REM function made him produce this girl, the physical product of his subconscious desire to share a part of himself with Matsukawa. There were too many complications to address on how she could come to be.

Takahiro refused to believe it. He felt _shaken._ This whole setup—the dream, the setting, the girl, Matsukawa’s smile—was so—

"Impossible and downright cliche, oh my god?" Takahiro exclaimed. His outburst thundered past the gazebo and across the meadow, shaking the purple and lavender clouds. Cotton candy fell like snow in varied clumps.

The bleeding sky split.

Plucked flowers wilted.

The girl’s hands slipped from his and cupped his cheeks.

The warmth in her flaking smile and fingers made his insides twist.

“I wish,” he began. Takahiro wished for so many things.

She shook her head, lips pressing together in a pout he recognized as she bunched his cheeks like he was a fish.

“Good morning!” The girl who was supposed to be his imaginary daughter beamed in response to her special, care-free world ending before her eyes.

Matsukawa was nowhere to be seen.

In his lucid state of mind, Takahiro swore he would carry out his vengeance once he woke up.

Matsukawa wouldn’t know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [blog](http://kamuwrites.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	6. Matsukawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return from the ailment that is Writer's Block...let's get this show on the road.

He should have known having ideas without consulting Takahiro first would prove dire for Matsukawa’s situation.

“I wasn’t ready, asshole!” Takahiro shouted from the opposite end of the company break room.

Oikawa had a hand over his mouth and his eyes comically wide, watching them yell at each other without context. Matsukawa knew Takahiro had to have let him in the know. They were close, even before Matsukawa got to know him.

“My bad,” Matsukawa said a second before a tool with way too many buttons on it was thrown at the space he had just occupied. Oikawa shook his head from his peripheral vision, so he knew he had made a mistake.

“We were talking about stuff! You made me pass out!”

“Not cool,” Oikawa said unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Takahiro agreed. He looked agitated enough to let Oikawa’s sarcasm faze through him.

Matsukawa wielded a nearby chair as a bat in case other hazardous and blunt objects were sent his way. Takahiro was being especially petty since it looked like he was aiming only at his face, all the while muttering, _“Those fucking eyebrows._ ”

“You,” Takahiro said low, springing into position for a throw. Matsukawa couldn’t see what he had in his hand, his body in the way. He eyed the nearest object near him. “What did we say about consent?”

“I know.” Matsukawa unplugged the espresso machine and carefully held it front of him. Oikawa and Takahiro gasped, first in audacity and then in shock, but it was too late.

The UFO Takahiro had in his hand soared across the room. Matsukawa identified it as a metal napkin dispenser and a glass paperweight—what the _fuck—_ and dodged in time to see it crash and dent the wall. It made a funny noise and the wallpaper changed color in white noise typical of empty channels on LED screens.

“Nice arm, Makki-chan,” Oikawa commended with an impressed whistle. “Hey, do you want to join my volleyball team? You’d be a great wing spiker.”

“Later,” Takahiro snapped, recovering from his initial shock. “Matsukawa, your room. Now. Oikawa, tell the owner I’ll fix the wall later without charge.”

Oikawa nodded and smirked as Matsukawa carefully placed the espresso machine down in a safe corner. Not taking his eyes off of Takahiro, Matsukawa shot Oikawa a choice finger as he walked out the door. Ignoring Oikawa’s indignant gasp, Matsukawa thought Oikawa should be grateful it was only a gesture. If Oikawa had made fun of either of them, Oikawa would find his socks and white dress shirts a wonderful pink and teal color next time he did laundry. He commended Oikawa was at least a good friend to Takahiro.

He followed after Takahiro silently. Any other time, he would be flattered Takahiro visited often enough to know the way to his room by heart, but opening his mouth would do no good, not when there were others who could hear by accident.

Once they arrived at his room, Takahiro went quiet like the others did when someone or something had done something terribly wrong. Oikawa, Kuroo, and Daichi were masters of provocation. It was hard to piss them off. Matsukawa had never been under their scrutiny. He hoped he wouldn’t be in the future. Takahiro’s own version of disappointment he could barely handle.

Takahiro was calm and expressionless as he sat on the bed, arms out behind him while he assessed the structure of his room like he hadn’t checked every nook and cranny for wired microphones and hidden cameras.

“Did you not like it?” Matsukawa asked, deciding to break their standstill first. He owed that much since he knew how stubborn Takahiro could be. Matsukawa could last longer when it came to silence, but it would be at the cost of his mental health. He loved listening to Takahiro talk, hated it when Takahiro chose to ignore him which, until now, never happened.

“It’s not that I didn’t.” Takahiro remained looking elsewhere, any place but Matsukawa. He shifted so he wasn’t taking up all the space on the bed. “It was unexpected, is all.”

Matsukawa took the opening Takahiro gave him. He sidled next to the inventor, fingers itching to take the painted, nimbles ones a hand’s span away from his. A glance showed him Takahiro wasn’t ready to give him the privilege. For now, he rested his hand in the space between them, open and waiting.

Takahiro sighed when the silence weighed too much, too long. He faced Matsukawa, shutting his eyes as he recalled the dream that muddled him up, because anger was the reaction that followed being upset, and didn’t that do things to Matsukawa, the fact _he_ had made Takahiro feel this way? Careless him; how dare he?

“It was so vivid and weird, like I was lucid dreaming,” Takahiro began. His mouth moved but his voice faltered. He sighed when it became apparent he was at a loss for the right words. “I’m not a good talker.”

“You and me both,” Matsukawa said. He inched his fingers a little closer.

From under his shirt, Takahiro brought out his tablet and pen. He lifted it so they could see it together. Matsukawa followed the line of his pen as it flitted across the screen.

“I’ve been meaning to ask how your REM function works,” Takahiro said. “I’ve made a theory on how you managed to stimulate certain parts of my brain and knock me out at the same time, which is a simple concept at first glance, but there is a chance it could backfire and stimulate my conscious brain first and not activate the chloroform-like substance you breathe, so if I could get a sample of your breath, that would be nice—”

“Takahiro.”

Matsukawa pushed the tablet away and grasped Takahiro’s heaving shoulders. He tilted his chin up so he could finally look him in the eye.

“Why are you crying?” Takahiro asked, caressing his cheeks and wiping the tears with his thumbs. “I’m the one who should be upset.”

“I don’t know.” Matsukawa let them and his hand fall. “I was hoping you could tell me that. I don’t know a lot of things, you see.”

“You know the impossible passcode to Oikawa’s phone,” Takahiro pointed out, softly. “You know I hate bitter things.”

“In general, I mean.” The tears kept pouring. His expression never changed as he gazed down at his hands. “I’m not smart like you. I learn as I go. Why do you think I work at this place?”

“Because you were meant to meet me?” Takahiro’s hands were cradling his face at this point.

“I’m a pretty face and not much else.”

“No.”

Matsukawa looked up. Takahiro wore a pout, glaring hard at him.

“No?”

“No,” Takahiro said. “No, I won’t let you put yourself down. Not when you are the most witty, handsomest guy around—and I’m friends with Oikawa and Alisa, which is saying something.”

Matsukawa snorted, pressing his hand over Takahiro’s against his cheek. “What makes you think I’ll listen?” he asked.

“I’ll just have to take your word for it. I trust you.” Takahiro smoothed his other hand over Matsukawa’s hip and maneuvered them so they were on their sides facing each other on the bed. “I would forgive you for anything.”

“I betrayed your trust.” Matsukawa turned his face and kissed his hand.

“You took me by surprise,” Takahiro agreed. He sighed as Matsukawa nuzzled his palm. “I’m still mad, don’t get me wrong. But, mostly, I’m mad at myself.”

Matsukawa waited. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing his way to the delicate skin over Takahiro’s wrist, his pulse thrumming underneath his lips, tracing the ink path that lead him to Takahiro’s beating heart.

Once there, head above Takahiro’s chest, Matsukawa listened.

“I want so much from you,” Takahiro said, threading his hand through Matsukawa’s hair, “and you can’t give everything I want. I want to live with you forever. I want to share my life with you. I want to create life with you. It’s so—” Takahiro took a shaky breath. “My desires are so _human.”_

Matsukawa didn’t know what to say to the onslaught of honesty and truth given to him.

So he didn’t.

He guided Takahiro onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. His suit jacket bunched up at his shoulders and the hem had slipped to the middle of his back. He still wore his shoes. Both of their feet hung over the edge of the bed.

Looking down at Takahiro, Matsukawa didn’t care.

He kissed him.

He missed.

Takahiro wheezed out a small laugh. “My lips are right here,” he said, pressing his fingers to them.

“I know.” Matsukawa pushed himself up so the distance between them was close but not too far from uncomfortable.

“Then, why?” Takahiro, ever the curious soul, asked.

“You may trust me,” Matsukawa said, lifting a finger to feel the soft hairs of Takahiro’s barely there eyebrows, “but I can’t trust my actions. I can’t initiate a kiss while I know some part of you rejects me.”

Takahiro looked ready to protest. Matsukawa silenced him with a blow to his face.

“I have a proposal,” Matsukawa declared. “Remember those five questions you had us make?”

“Does that count as one?” Takahiro said, teasing in the crinkle of his eyes.

Matsukawa smiled.

“I’m letting you know beforehand that the last question will be from _me.”_

They laid there, Takahiro underneath Matsukawa, Takahiro’s breath the only audible sound in the room besides the tick of the clock hanging on Matsukawa’s wall.

“All right,” Takahiro relented after some time. “Can I ask, why?”

“It’s important for the both of us,” Matsukawa said, simply.

Takahiro nodded. “We’ve had the first question down, which was from you.” Takahiro moved them so they were back on their sides. “The second one I’m counting when I asked what type of android you are. It’s personal, and you answered me.”

“My turn,” Matsukawa said, resting a hand over Takahiro’s warm chest.

“Your turn,” Takahiro murmured, closing his eyes with a hum as he pressed his hand over Matsukawa’s.

They fell asleep like that, hands clasped together—Matsukawa attuned to the beat of Takahiro’s heart, and Takahiro comforted by the familiar body by his side.

Their first fight had fizzled out into a compromise.

Their sorries filled their eyes, entered through the contacts of their hands to their skin.

Compromise, which meant enduring many difficulties ahead of them.

Compromise, which meant peace wasn’t far off.

Chaos, which came in the form of their mutual friend’s abrupt disappearance from their lives.


End file.
